One Reprimand
by sasha1600
Summary: Gibbs was supposed to keep his bullet-proof vest on in One Shot, One Kill. He didn’t. Warning: spanking of adult. Don’t like? Don’t read!


**One Reprimand**

**Summary**: Gibbs was supposed to keep his bullet-proof vest on in One Shot, One Kill. He didn't. **Warning**: spanking of adult. Don't like? Don't read!

**Disclaimer**: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em.

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A/N: This is part of my discipline series. Tag to One Shot, One Kill (1x13). This takes place towards the end of that episode, after the scene in the alley where Tony shoots the sniper and Gibbs asks Kate where her hat is, and before the conversation in the final scene about why the sniper hated Marine recruiters so much. Note the liberty taken with the time-line – I imagine this takes places after The Lesson, which puts that story earlier in Season 1, but with McGee already part of the team. I figure I'm already far enough from the canon for that not to be a huge problem, right? There's a reference here to the events in The Beginning, which was originally intended as a flashback sequence in this story; this has been brewing for a while, but RL kept getting in the way.

Thanks to draggon-flye, for brainstorming, and to PaperHat and Sophia2003, for raising questions about how Gibbs learned the lessons he passes on to the team.

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**Warning: contains the non-sexual spanking of an adult. If you have a problem with that, click on that 'back' button now. You've been warned.**

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'You wanted to see me, Director?'

Gibbs stepped into the office, shutting the door behind him in response to the Director's hand gesture. He had just returned from the sting they'd set up to catch the sniper who was targeting Marine recruiters, and he was still wearing his old uniform. There was no 'sit down', so Gibbs stood in front of the desk, not quite at attention but with a definite echo of a military bearing in his stance.

'Gibbs, it has come to my attention that you've been handling matters of discipline... shall we say... 'informally', with members of your team.'

Gibbs stiffened, now really standing at attention. He hadn't been sure what to expect when he'd been summoned into the Director's office, but he certainly hadn't thought he was going to be called on the carpet for his discipline methods.

'Yes, Sir.'

'Tell me, Gibbs. Do you find spanking your agents to be an appropriate means of punishing them?'

'I find it a very _effective_ method of disciplining my team, Sir.'

Tom Morrow leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. There was a long silence that reminded Gibbs uneasily of being left standing at attention under the piercing gaze of a humourless DI. Finally, the Director spoke.

'I see. Did you learn that from Mike Franks? Using physical punishment instead of more... conventional... workplace sanctions?'

Gibbs thought he caught a shadow of a smile on the other man's face, but it was gone before he could be sure.

'No, Sir. I _learned_ it from a Marine Gunnery Sergeant, my first posting after Parris Island. But I certainly _experienced_ it from Mike.'

There was a definite smirk now.

'What the hell did you do to get yourself spanked when you'd barely got out of boot camp, Gunny?'

Gibbs relaxed a little. He still wasn't sure where this was going, but Morrow getting more familiar could only be a good sign. There was a hint of embarrassment in his voice as he recalled the experience, but he didn't think that refusing to tell Morrow about it would be a good idea under the circumstances.

'We were on a training exercise, and I fell asleep on sentry duty. He woke me up, and before I even knew what was happening, he had me up against a tree. Then he put me on watch duty for the rest of the week, and whipped me every damn night before my shift, to give me something to keep me awake.'

'Did it work?'

'Sir?'

'Was that what you needed, to remember the lesson?'

'It certainly made more of an impression than being restricted to base during my next leave would have. And I think there'd be a lot more dead Marines, probably including me, if there weren't COs like him. I had a few of them, and yeah, there were times when a whipping was _exactly_ what I needed.'

'I see. And you think that taking the same approach with your team is what _they_ need?'

'I think it's the best chance I have of keeping my team _alive_, Sir.'

'You don't think such a... forceful... insistence on obedience to orders is inappropriate in an agency that isn't actually military?'

'No, Sir. When people are in the line of fire, it doesn't matter whether or not they're in uniform. If anything, it's even more important for agents to know that there will be unofficial consequences if they don't follow orders in the field, since they don't always have much in the way of _official_ incentives to obey the chain of command.'

'And it doesn't create problems for a team's morale?'

'No, Sir. My people accept my discipline, as I accepted Mike's. And they know that I don't expect anything of them that I don't expect of myself.

'Good.'

_Good? _Gibbs was surprised by the sudden shift in the tone of the conversation.

Morrow continued, 'I'm glad to hear that you're such a firm believer in the value of good whipping, because you're about to get one.'

'Sir?' Gibbs's Marine training wasn't enough to keep the shock from his face and the disbelief from his voice.

'You removed your vest.' It wasn't a question. Gibbs bit back the impulse to ask how Morrow knew. He respected the man too much to deny it, and asking what had given him away would be almost as insulting. As it turned out, he didn't have to ask, however. Morrow explained, unbidden, 'I followed the radio feed in MTAC. DiNozzo and Todd were talking about it.'

'Sir, it was visible under my shirt...,' Gibbs started to explain, feeling uncomfortably like he was making excuses for his behaviour rather than outlining the rationale behind his decision.

'S.o.p. clearly requires that you _keep_ the vest _on_ in such situations.'

'It would have jeopardised the op...'

'And I seem to recall giving you a direct order not to play cowboy, when I approved the plan to put you undercover.'

'As team leader, I made a judgement call. I felt it was an acceptable risk, especially since the glass was bullet-proof.'

'It wasn't _your_ call to make. It was _mine_. And it is _not_ acceptable for you to needlessly and recklessly risk your life!'

'Sir...'

'Gibbs, can you honestly tell me that DiNozzo would be sitting down any time this month if that had been him in there?'

Gibbs took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Morrow was right. He would never tolerate that kind of risk-taking by anyone under his command. And he couldn't stand there – _in_ _uniform_, no less – and tell the man who was as much his CO as anyone he'd served under in the Corps that he didn't think that disobeying his orders merited punishment. Realising that Morrow was still waiting for an answer, he squared his shoulders and hoped his voice didn't betray the apprehension he felt.

'No, Sir.'

'Then you know what to do.'

Gibbs removed his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before turning to the large conference table. He leaned over it, holding on tightly to the edges.

Taking another deep breath, he steeled himself for what was coming.

It had been a long time since he had found himself in this position. He hadn't been whipped since Mike had retired, and it had never occurred to him that Morrow might take this approach with him. He felt a moment of déjà vu, and realised that this was the second time in his life that he had believed himself to no longer be subject to physical discipline, then found himself bent over waiting for a whipping. Well, third, really, if he counted the realisation that some of his COs wouldn't hesitate to tan his hide when he deserved it. But that had been different; he'd been young, and it hadn't been long enough since his last punishment as a schoolboy for him to really see spankings as part of a past he'd left behind. But this – bending over for Morrow after years of handing out spankings as team leader – reminded him uncomfortably of his first whipping from Mike Franks. He'd spanked a lot of Marines as a Gunny, and getting used to being a 'probie', and likely to find himself on the other end of a belt again, had been difficult. Morrow's lesson carried the same reminder that he shouldn't get so used to being in command that he forgot that he was subject to orders as well.

He heard Morrow remove his belt. There was a long, agonising moment during which he could do nothing but wait for the first lash to fall.

The pain tore through him without warning. He sucked in his breath with a hiss. The second lash followed immediately. Morrow wasn't holding back, and any hope that he'd receive only a few token strokes was immediately dashed. He clenched his teeth tightly, determined not to cry out. He was a Marine, after all. The heavy leather belt blazed across his ass with an intensity that astonished him, the strokes falling too quickly for him to recover from one before the next landed. It hurt more than he'd expected it would, and he wondered briefly just how much experience Morrow had administering this sort of discipline. Staying in position took a conscious effort, and he had to remind himself that he deserved this and would take his punishment without complaint. He fought against the instinct to pull away from the pain and clutched at the table, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Finally it was over and he staggered to his feet, blinking rapidly.

'I have no problem reminding you that the rules apply to you, too, Gibbs. Disobey me again, and I guarantee you'll regret it.'

'Yes, Sir,' he managed to reply, his voice cracking only a little.

Morrow held him under his steely gaze for a long moment before nodding slightly.

'Alright, Gunny. Dismissed.'

Gibbs turned on his heel, old habits reasserting themselves through the familiar emotional and physical cues swirling around him. He exited the Director's office, and took a few moments in the outer reception area, deserted at this hour, to ensure he had regained his outer composure before heading to the locker room to change out of his uniform. He'd told Kate and Tony that he wanted their reports before they left for the evening. He'd review them at home, he decided. In the comfort of his basement, at the drafting table where the plans for his latest boat were spread out. Standing up.


End file.
